


Panflakes

by tatapb



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, One Shot, Scorpius Malfoy & Rose Weasley - Freeform, Scorpius Malfoy/Rose Weasley - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26684728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatapb/pseuds/tatapb
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy bakes, of course. The weird thing is him electing to do it in the middle of the night wearing his full Quidditch uniform and spouting nonsense. (mid Witch Slap circa chapter 22) [One-shot].
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy/Rose Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	Panflakes

It was a quiet night in the Malfoy-Potter-Weasley household. 

Al was over on the couch toying with one of his new spells, a series of complicated calculations strewn about him. A smattering of feathers in different shades of… well, _burnt_ were piled up next to him. Rose would be hard-pressed to tell if those were supposed to be successes or failures. Al’s mixed reactions and creative use of the f-word weren’t giving her much to go on and, while she _was_ curious, she was certainly not curious enough to actually inquire as to what was wrong. 

The last time she’d made the mistake of asking, he had roped her into one of his three hour lectures about how the ‘music of the spell wasn’t harmonizing properly with the wave of the wand’ or 'don't you _feel_ it, the rhythm is all wrong, it should be more ta-ta-tatata-ta-ta than ta-ta-ta-tata-ta' or some other nonsense to that effect. 

Plus, she had problems of her own. 

Rose was currently busy cursing at one of the diagrams in her Dangerous Bites book, frantically trying to work out the translation for the assorted labels which were in an odd variation of Ancient Runic. 

All these years of lecturing and it had never occurred to anyone to actually provide a translation? 

_Really_?

This meant that, on top of learning how to treat wounds from the various deadly extremities of a Chimera, she now also had to figure out how to read them... in Ancient Runic.

She briefly wondered if siccing a Chimaera on Healer Hodge would feel as satisfying as she imagined it would. 

Where _would_ one even get a Chimaera? _Were_ there even Chimaeras anymore? And honestly, what were the odds of someone even surviving a Chimaera? Judging by the diagram and companion notes, the odds were--

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of an opening door in the hallway.

“Frrrbbbbbulaa...” yawned Scorp as he stepped out of his room, stretching his arms over his head. “Archoo at ampersanders.”

If the funny sounds he was making weren’t enough, he seemed to be fully dressed for work. 

For a job he didn’t have anymore.

At three a.m.

On a Saturday.

“What the--” Rose glanced at Al over the piles of books scattered around her. “Did we wake you up?”

How she wouldn’t know. Apart from Al’s occasional colourful swearing and all the screaming happening inside her head, they’d been remarkably well-behaved.

“Freddledod,” Scorp replied, waving a hand dismissively at her. “Canderonalsty ne panflakes?”

“Is it just me,” Al asked, a bemused look on his face, “or the only thing remotely recognizable in that whole sentence was ‘panflakes’?” 

Oh, thank Merlin, it wasn’t just her. Scorp had been talking in the same self-assured way he usually did, lulling her into thinking that _she_ was the confused one.

“It’s definitely _not_ you,” she reassured, warily glancing over at the blonde boy from afar before exchanging another confused (if mildly amused) look with Al. 

“You alright, mate?”

“Pfffffffft,” came the glib response. “Whossit.”

Scorp was still sounding very self-important for someone who had stumbled into the living room in the middle of a weekend night, wearing his full Puddlemere gear and spewing complete gibberish. 

The worst part was that he was acting like nothing was amiss.

“ _What_?” The mildly amused look was gone from her cousin’s face now. “Are you getting this, Rose?”

“Whossit!” Scorp glared at him before enunciating the word slowly: “Whoooossiiiiit.”

Ah yes, because _that_ definitely helped.

“Scorp, my chum, my boy, my compadre, you’re making no sense whatsoever.” Al got up to his feet and gingerly approached his chum, his boy, his compadre, looking more and more confused by the second. Rose was sympathetic: hearing the ever eloquent Malfoy heir talking nonsense was doing a number on her own anxiety. “Did you cast a Confundus on him?”

“I did not,” Rose scoffed at the accusing tone, her eyes still glued to the blonde boy. “Wouldn’t surprise me if someone else did, though. He _is_ a tosser.”

The tosser was looking increasingly frustrated that they were not complying with whatever ‘whossit’ was.

“Throw me my wand, will you?”

Rose did just so, failing by about five feet. 

“Remind me to teach you to throw one of these days,” he grumbled, crouching to his feet to pick up the wand before encroaching on Scorp’s personal space. “Now, let’s take a look at you, shall we?”

“A Garblingus, maybe?” Rose suggested, her chin resting on her hand. “Scorp, say something.”

“Floon,” he obliged, beaming back at her. “Haerdemoans.”

“I can’t find any signs of residual spellcasting,” Al drawled hesitantly. He grabbed Scorp’s hand and let it drop. “Reactions seem good though and he wasn’t like this when he went to bed.”

“Timer hex. I wonder what he did and who he did it to?” Rose sniggered, grabbing her own wand and walking over to the pair. “Step aside, you amateur.”

Al cleared the way for her with a theatrical bow and Rose stood in front of Scorp, whose face had softened considerably at her approach.

Dear idiot.

“This is what you get when you--” Rose’s eyebrows quirked upwards as she looked into his eyes. “Oh.”

They were red. Bloodshot eyes combined with a sudden desire to wake up at three in the morning of a work night to make pancakes and go to a job he’d quit...

“What?” Al asked over her shoulder, eyes meeting hers with concern. “What is it?”

“He’s…” She frowned, standing on the tips of her toes and cupping Scorp’s cheeks with her hands to get a better look. “Get in here you ninny, you’re too tall.”

Rose tried to ignore the way he leaned into her hands, as if he was _enjoying_ it. A smile curled his lips and he was looking into her eyes and holy fuck, why was he _looking_ at her like that?

“You’re not going to snog him, are you?” Al sounded amused.

Good, apparently it _wasn’t_ just in her head.

“Don’t be daft, I’m just checking...” Her voice trailed off as Scorp’s long fingers clasped around her wrists. Rose cursed under her breath. He leaned further into her until their eyes were level, their foreheads touching. “I’m just…”

He was so _close_. He was so close and his hands were so gentle and the way he was smiling at her was making her heart race and--

“What _is_ it?”

Holy shit, he _was_ going to kiss her.

“He’s sleepwalking,” Rose breathed as she pulled away and tried to slip from the boy’s grasp, gently at first and then not-so-gently. “Just _don’t_... wake him up.”

The grip around her wrists tightened and Rose pressed her open palms against Scorp's chest to keep him from getting any closer. 

“Sleepwalking,” Al repeated, scowling at his best friend. He then continued in hushed tones: “I shared a dorm with the wanker for seven years and he never sleepwalked before.”

He said it like it was a betrayal of some sort.

“Hopefully it’s new and just temporary," Rose whispered back. "The stress must be getting to him.” 

Scorp was still looking at her the way he usually looked at his Nimbus 3000 and didn’t look the slightest bit inclined to let go of her. 

“A little help here…?”

Sweet Circe, he was leaning in again.

She reminded herself and her frantically beating heart that he didn’t mean anything by it. It wasn’t intentional, his brain wasn’t fully functioning--

“Yeah, sure.” Al’s nose crinkled with amusement as he circled them, trying to find an in. “So is this a dream to him?”

“No idea,” Rose said, her heart caught on her throat as Scorp reeled her closer into him. “He won’t remember any of this in the morning.”

She definitely would though. 

Especially because he had now let go of one of her wrists and was tucking a stray curl behind her ear with a gentleness she hadn't imagined he was capable of. Like she was something precious and frail and--

“ _I’ll_ remember,” Al chimed back. “I’ll be sure to give him a full report.”

Judging by the grin on Al’s face, Scorp'd never hear the end of it. 

By tomorrow morning everyone in Wizarding London would know Scorpius Malfoy had sleepwalkingly declared his intent to make 'panflakes', and Merlin only knew what Al would say about his apparent keenness on snogging her. 

“Scorp, my boy, you said something about pancakes…?" Al grabbed Scorp’s wrist with one hand and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Because you do make amazing pancakes, I mean, you could do vanilla, strawberry--”

Rose finally felt Scorp’s grip slackening and she yanked her hand free, hiding behind Al. 

"--blueberry, honey, caramel…"

Scorp’s face had brightened up at the mention of pancakes and he was allowing himself to be guided, which was good. 

Unfortunately, he seemed to be under the impression that he was going to make pancakes, which was obviously bad.

“No panflakes,” Rose hissed, tugging at Al’s sleeve. “I mean pancakes! I mean… will you just take him back to bed?!”

“If he’s up might as well let him do what he wants,” Al hissed back. “Plus, I’m hungry.”

“You’re _always_ hungry.” She followed helplessly as her cousin lead Scorp through the hallway and toward the kitchen. “You can’t be serious, he’ll burn the house down!”

“He claims he can bake in his sleep,” Al whispered, throwing her a grin over his shoulder. “Time to see if it’s true.”

Rose followed, blankly wondering for the millionth time why she'd agreed to move in with these two idiots. To be fair, Idiot #2’s involvement in this particular debacle wasn’t intentional, but he was _still_ involved and they were _still_ getting into trouble, despite one of them being fast asleep.

What were the odds of them setting fire to the kitchen?

Slim. 

Potential. 

_Inevitable_.

Rose trailed after them and watched as Scorpius started pulling ingredients from nearby cupboards, fishing pans from drawers and assorted jams from the open shelves that lined their walls. He seemed to have forgotten everything about them now, single-mindedly focusing on the task that had risen him from his slumber.

“If he asks for his wand,” she told Al, who was sitting down on a nearby chair still wearing his shit-eating grin, “ _don’t_ give it to him.”

Thank Merlin for their wandless policy. Apparently Scorpius abided by the rules even in his dreams. Funny to think that, out of the three of them, he was the only one who actually did.

“Sure thing, though I doubt I’d understand him even if he did.”

There was a sense of foreboding when Scorp turned on the stove and her hand instinctively reached out to stop him - only to fall helplessly to her side when he expertly flicked the pan onto it and turned to focus on the batter.

Everything was fine. 

Except, of course, it wasn’t. 

Because she’d never, ever get a decent night’s rest after this.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was a self-indulgent exercise in stupidity.


End file.
